


Cold and lonely in the deep dark night

by dutchbuffy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-09 04:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchbuffy/pseuds/dutchbuffy
Summary: A sick wrong moment somewhere in season 7.





	Cold and lonely in the deep dark night

A vampire at midday. A sluggish creature, under normal circumstances, but this vampire was vibrating with a thousand emotions and straining at the leash. Spike jumped up and resumed his pacing.

“Spike!” Dawn hissed at him. “Sit down! I told you not to pace, it’s driving me crazy.”

“Seconded,” Willow said, without looking up from her book.

They were driving him crazy. It must be deliberate. Look at them sitting there exposed and vulnerable, all that smooth skin and shiny hair, casually draped over their slender necks. His eyes trailed down from a soft throat down to plump breasts, straining against the thin fabric of a T-shirt. The girl shifted and exposed a stretch of belly, swelling ever so gently over her low-slung jeans. Jeans that encased the luscious curve of hips, leading down to that dark moist crevice where he would fuck her until she begged and then drink her dry from the chalice of that white, white neck…

“Spike!” The full breasts were nearly pushed in his nose and he was going to rip the cloth off them and feast, when suddenly his perception shifted and it was just Dawn yelling in his face.

“Spike? Research? You’ve been staring at nothing for the past ten minutes!”

Well, this really was easier when Buffy was around, masking all other girly scents with her powerful golden aroma. He mumbled an excuse and took himself over to the kitchen. He wished for being an ordinary vampire, because he was almost certain he’d felt nothing of the kind of temptation he was feeling now when he didn’t have the damn soul. In fact, he’d never felt this way about Dawn before. It must be some kind of side effect. It was hard making your own chains. 

He got up again and went down to the basement. He needed a fag, badly. Smoking helped a little, but he still felt constricted and unsettled. He took off his T-shirt. The cloth irritated his skin, causing too many sensations, scintillating him and making him think of things he wanted buried and gone. He sat down again, lit another cigarette. Almost reflexively, his hand slid to the waist of his jeans, where he'd opened the buttons to give himself space. The slight raspiness of his fingertips set up a thrill in his groin and he felt his cock harden.

He gripped it hard through the denim. A nice wank would relieve some of the tension. He freed himself and hissed as the sensitive head slapped against his belly. He started to stroke himself feverishly, anxious to get it over with before anyone came down, even if they never did. He couldn’t use Buffy for his imaginings, or at least he wouldn't. He tried to picture Dru quivering and shrieking beneath him but that hadn't worked in a long time, and didn’t now. He could hardly think of Dawn, now, could he, throwing those lush full breasts practically in his face? He could feel himself getting twice as hard at the thought and cursed it. Not Dawn! He'd known her as a kid, for god’s sake. This was wrong. His dick clearly thought otherwise and continued the steady climb to orgasm, while he frantically tried to push the breasts out of his mind, it's a metaphor for God's sake, you prat, just think of someone else, Darla, Buffy, Joyce, Willow, anyone. At last, he gave in and thought of Angel. 

Wretchedly, he cleaned up his come and threw himself face down on the cot. He'd never lived like this before, surrounded on all sides by nubile young women, warm and throbbing with blood and life, and it was so hard. The soul was no help at all. He had the same feelings and desires as ever, the soul just showed that there might be restrictions on his actions, and that he should seek them out. He knew he shouldn't dream of underage girls, he didn’t want to, but he did. All the while still loving Buffy as much as ever, although he was slowly getting the feeling that he might become a saint and he'd never get any closer to her. What capacity for love Buffy had, or might have had, was buried so deep that he thought no one could reach it.

When he felt weary enough to sleep, he chained himself to the wall, making sure he could harm no one even if he wanted to in his dreams. He slept.

*

The faint click of the basement door woke him. Someone was coming in, human, female, nervous. Dawn. He tried to sit up in his chains. Was something the matter with Buffy?

"Dawn!" he whispered urgently. "Is Buffy okay? What's going on? My keys are in the bucket next to the stairs."

"I know," Dawn said in a strange voice. "I won’t need them."

She came closer, the whites of her eyes gleaming at him in the semi-darkness. She had something in her hand. Before he could see what it was, he felt a stinging pain and she receded rapidly from him into a dark tunnel.

*

He woke up and couldn’t see for a moment. Gradually his brains started to process a few images and he could see blobs of light. These resolved into Dawn's eyes and a couple of candles. What the fuck? He looked at the object in Dawn's hands and saw it was a tazer. Bloody hell. He could no longer tell himself this was his sweet bit, come to chat with Uncle Spike like before. The unforgiving look in her eyes made him queasy. She shouldn't do this, she really shouldn't. Whatever he had done, it wasn't worth sullying her pretty little soul about.

"I don't know what you want, Dawn," he said, and he thought his voice sounded thin and pathetic, "but please don't, it isn’t worth it. Don't stoop to doing the wrong thing for the right reason."

"You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?" she said, her voice so cold and distant. 

She came closer, her eyes raking over him like claws and he shivered before he realized he was naked, and still, or again, bound up in chains. A chill inkling of what she might be down here for slithered down his spine. He tried to cover himself before the chains brought him up short. He closed his eyes. Was this a sick dream? Wouldn’t be the first one, would it? She sat down on the edge of the cot, the damn thing so narrow that her warm thigh pressed against his skin. She was clad only in a tiny top and shorts of the thinnest cotton. He tried to look away from all that inviting gleaming young flesh, but it thrust at him everywhere, legs, arms, strip of belly, throat. Her nipples followed him wherever he tried to turn, and the dark shadow between her legs ogled him invitingly. He looked away, only to be speared by another icicle from her eyes and that was worse.

There was nothing for it but to close his eyes and wait in the dark for what she was going to do. Burn him, he hoped, as she had threatened once. He knew it would be something infinitely harder to bear. Her hand came to rest on his belly, just above his hipbone. He was ticklish there, and arched a little before he could prevent himself. He heard a tiny gasp, the hand disappeared for a moment, then came down more firmly.

Nothing for long moments. Then she started breathing a little faster, as if preparing herself for something. "You raped Buffy," she said in a low, accusing voice.

"Didn’t succeed, Dawn," he said hopelessly. Why had Buffy told her? He thought she was too young to know about the things that had gone down between Slayer and him.

"Do you know how that feels, Spike?"

He couldn’t answer that, not her. She didn’t need to know about what had passed between him and his grandsire, call it rape or not. A vampire could find joy in most anything, if given sufficient incentive, like torture and starvation, but there were no words to describe the dark beauty of it to a seventeen-year-old girl.

"Guess not. You will find out, Spike. What it's like to be forced by someone who you thought loved you."

The despair that swept over him landed with chill feet in his gut, and brought a hard bright light shining on his inadequacies that pinned him down like a bug about to be dissected. 

"Dawn, please. Don’t do that. You'll be hurting yourself with this!"

She lifted her chin, still soft with subcutaneous fat. "It’s for Buffy. What she deserves."

She jerked her head to his groin, where her own eyes couldn’t quite go. "Look."

The forgotten pressure of her warm hand on his hip had brought the treacherous snake out of hiding, questing for prey. Spike's head fell back and his eyes closed in pain. He felt Dawn stir and rustle next to him and guessed she was taking of her clothes. His eyes opened without his permission and focused on her breasts. They were still covered; Dawn's modesty hadn’t allowed her to take her tee off yet. She had taken her shorts off and was climbing on top of him now. Her bottom was warm and incredibly soft and smooth like a baby's. She started rocking uncertainly on top of him and Spike almost laughed. She undoubtedly knew about the mechanics of sex, but hadn't realized it would be difficult and painful, if not downright impossible to have penetration without the lubrication of her own arousal.

On the other hand, he was rock-hard, and if she kept on juggling and bouncing her hot self against him, however inexpertly, something was bound to happen. 

"Dawn, please," he tried again. "What do you think would happen if Buffy found out? D'you think she'd be happy about this?"

"No," Dawn said. "But she'd stake you for sure. I can survive being grounded a couple of years."

He had turned his head to look into her eyes, and to his dismay, his nose picked up a beginning of heat from Dawn's groin. She started rubbing her own breasts, and he couldn’t help the twitch his cock gave. Dawn inhaled sharply, and he could see she was getting off on the power she had over him.

"Close your eyes," she said, inconsequently he thought, but when he started to feel the rhythmic bump of a finger against his pubic bone he knew what she was doing. He opened his eyes again, hoping to embarrass her so much she would stop. But Dawn was too far gone to be deterred by that. He saw her flushed cheeks, and the increasing ease with which she was gyrating on his hips, and felt and smelled the fluid being made in her pussy. This couldn't be good. He really wished his body wasn't having such a wonderful time of it, and that the demon wasn't pressuring him so much to enjoy it and get on with it.

Dawn got even braver and folded her hand around his cock. He saw her little pink tongue slip out and moisturize her lips and couldn’t stop a moan from escaping his lips. Oh God. She started moving her hand up and down, and her clumsiness was nothing against the months and months of celibacy that lay behind him. He was evil, there was no denying it. Who could get off on being jerked off by your great love's little sister? Only an amoral demon, obviously. He might as well give in and then let himself be staked by Buffy. A fitting end for a life of death and depravity. There apparently was no redemption for the likes of him, soul or no soul. Nobody was ever going to see more in him than just another evil vampire. The only person who'd ever been on his side had been Dawn, and he'd bollixed that up nicely, hadn’t he? Might as well live up to his reputation.

Dawn elevated herself on her knees and started to try to put his dick into her sweet little quim, which looked gorgeously flushed and swollen from his vantage point. She didn’t succeed at first, having of course no clue about the right angle, but her actions did spread her honey around nicely, making his cock slip in a little further each time. She kept staring at him fixedly, like a lover, and the fumbling continued until he could stand the combined pressures of despair and evil and Dawn no longer. He rammed upwards, succeeding to get in halfway. Dawn gasped and shivered.

Immediately he was filled with remorse. "Oh Dawnie, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Dawn looked at him strangely. She didn’t answer but lifted herself up and sank own again, this time taking him in completely. They moaned simultaneously. She was so tight and sweet he thought of dying. The idea of being the one to take her virginity was making him feel both ridiculously grateful and the most disgusting cad on earth. How could he? But it felt so good, like nothing had for a long time.

Good intentions or not, he started whispering instructions to her. Lean back a little more, Dawnie. Try changing the angle until you feel a really good spot. Her gasping and moaning goaded him into a frenzy, which was hard to satisfy because of her still clumsy movements. 

"Don't be shy, Nibblet. Take what you want. Do it as hard as you want, I can take it." He could hear his own voice say it in that throaty sexy way.

Her thighs started to quiver and he could see she was tiring. No Slayer stamina, this one. 

"Dawn, untie my hands, so I can help you."

"But I would have to get off!" she protested weakly.

Well, yeah. After some hesitation, she climbed off him, making his cock twitch in need. She scrambled to the bucket that held the keys and with trembling hands started to free his. 

"Get back on," he commanded. She obeyed eagerly and managed to stick his cock back in, after almost crippling him for life by bending it the wrong way. Spike bore it stoically, being touched by her divine little hands was almost enough. 

It was so hard to concentrate. He was keeping both the soul and the demon at bay, and was just being an evil man doing things he oughtn't to a girl who could be his great-great-granddaughter. She's enjoying it, the demon whispered. Eat her. The soul was mostly confused about the sex, nothing black and white about sex, just a jumble of fleshy colors, but it was firm about revenge and continuing remorse. No help there.

He grabbed her lush hips firmly and started to move her up and down. After a few beats he stopped again, leaving Dawn quivering and incoherent.

"Get off your top, Dawn. Want to see your gorgeous tits, don't I?"

She obeyed hastily. Spike groaned when the smooth white flesh became visible. Her breasts were so new that the skin hadn’t had time to sag, so that they stood out from her ribcage in spite of being quite full. Her nipples and areolas were tiny and brownish. Spike put his thumb on her clit and the other hand on one soft breast. It was such a release doing this, being evil again. He hadn't realized he'd wanted to be.

"Christ, you're so beautiful, Dawn. Make a bloke so very happy one day."

He could see the Nibblet was too embarrassed and unused to what she was feeling to speak. His movements were still limited by his ankle chains, so he had to stop playing with her to resume their fucking. He started a fast tempo, bouncing Dawn up and down on his cock until he saw the telltale flush spread over her chest and neck, rising to her face. She shuddered and moaned, stuffing her fists in her mouth to keep from screaming. He'd just known she'd be a screamer, he only wished she could vent it more freely. She hung limply in his grip, but he wasn't done yet. 

The heavy limpness of her collapsed limbs reminded him of earlier days, of almost dead but still warm, drained victims, and sped up his climax shamefully. Evil still felt so good.

A few more thrusts did it for him, and he clenched his teeth firmly to keep the sounds in and shot triumphantly into the hot slack body. He let her sink full-length on his body. She hid her face in his neck and clung to him frantically.

Slowly Spike's brain started to cool down and telegraph to him the consequences his actions. Obviously, this night should be his last one under the moon. But even if he was going to go out in the sun, or get staked, there was still Dawn to consider, who'd have to live with this memory. He didn’t think thoughts of revenge had remained paramount in her thoughts during their fucking.

Dawn mumbled something in his neck. He started in alarm. What? She repeated it.

"Do you love me now, Spike?"

An icy feeling spread through his body until he could feel his skin contract in goose bumps. Love? He wet his lips and willed his voice to work.

"Always loved you, Nibblet." It came out harsh and scraping, and it hurt his throat to say it.

She wasn't fooled about the kind of love he felt. Her face scrunched up in a childish mask of hurt that made him feel twice the cad he was. Oh God. He'd fucked the Slayer's kid sister. His bit, his little Nibblet. He couldn't call her that no more, now. They stared at each other in petrified silence, their bodies sticking together with gluey come and her sweat. Revenge, sure. Great stuff, always kicked you right back in the arse, but it had never happened this soon.

Dawn'd be thinking of turning it back into revenge just about now, he expected. He should have lied, he really should, except he'd never been good at it and lately even less. Oh God. What the fuck did all these people mean about the soul making you good? Hadn’t prevented any of this happening, and Dawn's soul wouldn't be looking so white and shiny either, now would it?

Dawn clambered off him with stiff jerky movements, her face frozen into a scowl of almost crying. More come dribbled out of her and she looked at it with such surprise and distaste that his heart turned around inside him. Bit hadn't known about the basic messiness of sex, had she? Gotten a bit too much education all at once. 

Dawn looked helplessly at her sticky thighs and her general flushed and wealed state. With a sinking heart, Spike saw thumb marks near her hipbones that would turn into bruises soon. He was worse than a brute; she was only human, and so tender with humanity, unlike Slayers who were all hard springy muscle. A girl like her would once have made the best of meals, with an appetizer of rape to get the juices flowing. He really hated the turns and twists his thoughts made, but couldn’t begin to straighten them out.

Dawn put on her flimsy crinkled nightwear after wiping herself off with it half-heartedly. Spike lay motionless on the bed, not knowing what to do or say to make things even the slightest bit better. She turned away and started for the stairs. 

"Dawn, I do…"

He halted. Without looking back, she had lifted up her hand in an absurdly adult and dignified gesture. Please. No more. He complied.

The basement door shut with a soft snick. Spike remained alone in the oppressive darkness, feeling his flesh giving up the heat it had borrowed from Dawn, almost hearing it tick like a motor cooling down. He was uncomfortably aware of his free hands, and that he had no way of chaining himself up again. It wasn't clear to him what he should do at all, like in the moments before it all happened, when he'd been sure he was going to go into the sun. There were issues like not leaving Dawn to face the music on her own, which would be evil; suicide, which would be cowardly. Going on then? Only how? She probably wouldn't be able to look him in the face ever again. 

After staring up at the ceiling for hours, he decided it would have to be her call. If Dawn told Buffy, everything would be over pretty bloody quick. If she didn’t, Dawn would let him know somehow what kind of relationship they should have. How he should atone. 

He didn't sleep, and lay motionless waiting for dawn.

END


End file.
